


Alone for the Holidays

by AnontheNullifier



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, I promise, Some Fluff, Some angst, a stolen moment, between civil war and infinity war, ends fluffy, holiday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-22 23:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnontheNullifier/pseuds/AnontheNullifier
Summary: Vision discovers the holidays are very different when half the team is on the run.





	Alone for the Holidays

Vision always finds hovering above the stairs is preferable to physically stepping, a preference that is amplified in this moment as it allows him to focus on balancing the stack of boxes in his arms. If he were to step down it is possible that the weight distribution would shift ever so slightly as to unbalance his carefully arranged load leading to an unpleasant outcome. Hovering efficiently removes such nuisances.

“You know you can take more than two trips, right?”

Sage advice that Vision typically follows, but each descent into the storage room tonight has led to an increased weight in his chest, one he desired to stymie by reducing the number of trips. Which is why he is unable to see his companion from behind the wall of boxes in his arms. “I did not wish to unnecessarily draw out the process.”

Though he cannot see him, the tone of Rhodes’ “Fair enough,” conveys an image of the man’s characteristic nod and shrug he utilizes whenever readily accepting someone’s reasoning. “Come on over and learn the system.”

“Of course.” Vision slowly squats as he places the last of the boxes on the ground next to Rhodes’ wheelchair and then stands to attention as he awaits further instructions.

“Alright, so this one,” Rhodes points towards a pile on the coffee table of opened and partially sorted boxes, several stray pieces of tinsel clinging to the tape residue on the flaps, “is for the tree. This one,” a new pile that looks almost identical to the other one minus the tinsel is on the chair Vision uses when playing chess, “is for the halls and common area.”

There is a third stack, located on the couch, where all of the tape has been cut and the flaps delicately folded shut again. “And these?”

“Those need to go back in storage.”

Vision feels foolish after asking as the answer would have been apparent had he simply stopped and applied logic before speaking. “Oh yes, I recall now.” Given their former teammates are still internationally wanted fugitives, it was determined that any object or decoration traced to the rogue Avengers should be kept in storage. Invoking the old adage of out of sight, out of mind. Yet Vision is not certain hiding it will truly remove all thoughts of their friends. Or at least, it has not done so for him, the compound’s silent rooms an ever present reminder of the schism.

“We should probably just get this over with.” He suspects Rhodes feels similarly, though they have not spoken about it. It is a hunch predicated on the knowledge that both of them have put off decorating the compound until it was unavoidable. “Want to take the tree or the boxes?”

Neither is particularly enticing or meaningful since this is only his second holiday season and he still lacks the traditions so deeply embedded in his teammates, so Vision chooses what he believes Rhodes would prefer. “I can sort the rest of the boxes and then aid you.”

“Sounds good.” A pang of guilt stabs Vision’s chest as he watches Rhodes’ onerous ascent from his wheelchair, the exoskeleton Stark crafted for him still in beta testing and prone to giving out unexpectedly. It is amazing to Vision how unperturbed Rhodes is most of the time and how, besides their first conversation post Leipzig, he has never lashed out at Vision for what happened (unlike Tony, who has done so on a handful of occasions). It doesn’t mean Vision allows himself leeway in accepting responsibility for what occurred, but it does help him breathe easier knowing there is no ill will between himself and Rhodes. “I’ll need your help towards the top, I’m not climbing that ladder.”

“Understood.” The year before, when everyone was present, including Tony in an askew Santa hat and a drink in his hand as he directed everyone’s decorating, there was music streaming from the surround sound and a fake fire crackling on the television. Wanda stayed with Vision in the kitchen, stirring the hot chocolate and spiked cider, commiserating with him about how odd all of the traditions were to outsiders such as themselves. Now it is silent minus the clink of ornaments and rustle of tinsel as Rhodes works on the tree.

Vision isn’t sure if this paradoxically weighty hollowness overtaking his limbs is normal, a topic he will need to investigate more tonight once Rhodes has retired, the past several nights introducing him to the possibility of seasonal affective disorder, though he has yet to have Helen test his melatonin levels. Vision tries to shrug the feeling away, or at least ignore it for the time being. So he begins his task, slowly forming a rhythm of running the box cutter through the tape, opening the box, and then sorting it to the appropriate pile. The process is fairly quick, his impeccable memory about where all the decorations went the year before means he doesn’t need to investigate beyond the top item in the box. That is until he glances at the contents of the second to last box. The glittery and cheerful golds, reds, and greens of the other decorations have been replaced by shiny whites and blues. Something in his chest seizes and he can’t stop his fingers tracing the dreidels printed on the crinkly paper of the string lights. The year before, long after all the holiday parties were thrown and gifts given, Wanda had confided in him that she didn’t actually celebrate Christmas. Vision, for a reason he had not been able to fully understand back then, felt a deep desire to honor her heritage and had gone to a local store to buy an assortment of, what he hoped, were acceptable decorations for Wanda. She had hugged him tightly and made him promise he’d help her hang them the next year. Only now it is a year later and he is folding the box shut and stacking it with the other off-limit decorations, somewhat concerned at the faint tremor of his hands as does so .

“Can you help me out?”

The request draws his mind back to the present, hands smoothing out his sweater as he turns towards Rhodes, “Gladly.” Vision studies the pattern and placement of the string lights on the bottom of the tree as he takes the dangling, sparkling bulbs from Rhodes and flies carefully around the tree to finish. Rhodes passes the rest of the decorations, occasionally directing Vision (in a much more subdued fashion than Stark did the year before) on the placement of the garland and ornaments.

Vision lands next to Rhodes once the star is affixed to the top of the tree. “It’s um,” the man next to him studies the large evergreen, one that could easily be placed on the cover of a magazine and will soon be on the covers of all newspapers and news sites, “a bit impersonal.”

“It is.”

Amongst the boxes in the pile going back to the basement is the vast array of personalized, garish ornaments the team traditionally gifts each other. Tony had insisted they put up the ones for the three of them, but Rhodes and Vision agreed it would only draw more attention to the missing members. What is left is a gorgeous albeit meaningless tree. “You doing okay, with all of this?”

The question is quiet, almost remorseful - whether because it is out of obligation or because he is worried about stepping on Vision’s toes is difficult to discern. “I believe so,” which is not entirely true, but is what Vision believes is socially the most acceptable answer.

“You’re still welcome to come to my sister’s, she won’t mind.”

It’s an offer Vision truly appreciates despite having no interest in accepting. “I believe it is mandated in the Accords that at least one Avenger must always be on the premises.”

This line of reasoning has not stopped Rhodes from pestering him, and it likely still won’t, but Vision can’t muster a better acceptable explanation for his refusal. “I doubt anyone would know if it was empty for a few days.” The truth is that no one realizes when the compound is empty because Vision is the only one who is consistently there to notice. “I just,” Rhodes sighs, hands waving in an attempt to convince Vision to change his mind, “I hate to think of you alone for the holidays.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Vision offers a brief, friendly smile that hopefully conveys his genuineness, “but I will be fine.”

Rhodes inhales deeply, seemingly contemplating if he continues to push on the matter, but then his chest deflates soundlessly as he accepts Vision’s decision. “Okay.” A shrug sends away the last of the concern from his voice, replacing it expertly with a more lighthearted topic, “Please tell me you remembered to order the backup sweaters for tomorrow.”

The sweaters Tony ordered for the annual Avenger Christmas card are...questionable at best, caricatures of their faces with Santa hats on with _The Accordions_ embroidered underneath. “Yes, I have them in my quarters.”

“Thank God.” There are still half a dozen boxes of decorations left for the hallways and windows, yet Rhodes rubs his hands together the way he usually does when a task is complete. “I think we can finish the rest tomorrow, I’m kind of tired.”

Vision wonders if it is the same tiredness he has been feeling since the fallout of the Avengers. “I believe we only need the tree for the picture.”

Rhodes nods, eyes glistening from the glow of the trees, “Alright.” This is how each evening ends between them, at least when Rhodes is at the compound, very little interaction, awkward silence, and then one of them (typically Rhodes) extricates himself from the situation. “Goodnight, Vision.”

“Goodnight, Rhodes.”

Alone, standing in front of the tree, Vision searches for anything similar to his first Christmas: the awe that filled him each night when he would hover in front of the tree while the others slept, the confusion he experienced at each new tradition he was introduced to, and the warmth that bloomed from the sheer joy of the people around him. Unfortunately, he comes up empty handed.

Deciding that brooding is not the most productive use of his time, Vision glides to the couch, rearranging the closed boxes based on size and weight into a well-balanced, easily movable stack. Once it meets his specifications, Vision transfers the boxes back into the storage room, strategically placing each one on the shelves to take up the least amount of space, a real-life game of Tetris minus the disappearing lines. He would have lost the game, however, as the last box should have been placed third, its size and shape more parsimonious for the position than the one he put in its place, yet he failed to do so. Instead he slowly re-opens the box, sifting through the decorations as a gloom seeps deep into his vibranium cells. Had so many things been done differently, words been exchanged, or perhaps words been kept silent; some emotions kept in check while other, more useful, emotions were followed; actions withheld or even actions completed (he still cannot bear to think of the multitudinous options he failed to consider at Leipzig to stop the fight earlier), then this box might not be shoved into the darkness of the basement.

Vision closes the box, careful not to tear any of the delicate papers inside, and slides it onto the shelf. At this point he should retire to his quarters, or at least move to a more suitable location in the compound. He doesn’t move, however, eyes remaining on the brown wall of the boxes as his mind works.

 

 

There is a knock at the door. Wanda ignores it, certain it’s the guy from two doors down coming back drunk, yet again. Another knock and she rolls over, tugging the sheet up higher, body strongly disliking the stark temperature difference between day and night in the desert. A third knock and a painfully polite “Wanda?” jolts her out of bed, her powers flickering in the darkness as she pulls her sweatshirt towards her with one hand and closes the curtains over the window with the other. She steps in front of the door, hand poised over the knob as she sends a tendril of scarlet to confirm she wasn’t dreaming. She wasn’t. Wanda yanks the door open with a, “Vizh, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I-” this is not her normal response to seeing him, but this is also not a planned rendezvous, something they both agreed should be avoided in case other factors, like their teammates being around, would create a perilous situation. Vision seems shocked at her ire, his human disguise faltering around the eyes as she watches his irises spin. “I um wanted to bring you this,” he holds out a box to her, as if that should be answer enough.

The hallway is empty, thankfully, but there is no guarantee it will remain that way. “Just, come in.” Wanda steps aside to allow him to enter the tiny space, which is about half the size of her room at the compound, if she wants to be generous in her estimation. With the door shut and the lights on, she is torn between her desire to hug him, always elated to see his face, or scold him for misusing her coordinates given his demeanor doesn’t suggest there is any real emergency. “Vision, what’s going on?”

A quick assessment of potential sight-lines to the outside precedes the disguise dissolving into his crimson and silver visage, a sight she misses daily. Vision turns towards her, lips pursed and eyes incapable of settling on any one object. “Rhodes and I were decorating the tree for the Christmas photo tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

She is waiting for him to tell her the compound burned down or the tree somehow crushed Tony (she can hope). “It was,” a long, timid pause breaks up his sentence, a realization dawning on his face that is soon followed by a frown and flick of his eyes to her, “I feel quite foolish now.” Which confirms there is no emergency.

“Vizh,” a squeeze of his forearm draws his eyes to her, his embarrassment bursting in the air around them, “I won’t judge you, you know that.”

He sends her a sheepish, appreciative smile, “I know.” Another long pause and three breaths is what he needs to continue. “It was very disheartening to partake of such an activity without you and the rest of the team.”

A hairline fracture forms in her heart at the sorrow swirling in his eyes. “It’s always hard to celebrate without everyone you care about.” The hollowness and confusion she senses in Vision’s mind is one she knows intimately. The holiday season has long been something she tries to avoid, as best she can, wrought with reminders of all that’s been lost, of times when she didn’t have to stare at the empty seats at the table or feel the absence of the pressure of arms wrapped around her or hands gripping her own as they prayed. After their parents died, she and Pietro found one way to cope was to adopt their own traditions, taking only small pieces of their parents with them. It worked, for a time, until they just stopped celebrating other than occasionally eating Hanukkah gelt and lighting a candle in remembrance on particularly difficult nights. Last year, her first without her brother, almost destroyed her, even with her vain attempts at sidestepping it by simply not acknowledging her roots, because if the holiday doesn’t exist then it can’t haunt her. Unfortunately that’s not how it works, all the parties and the shows, the cheesy movies on television and the songs on the radio, the cards plastered to the fridge of happy, smiling families, all serve as reminders of how very much alone she is. It all leaves a bitter taste in her mouth - one she hopes doesn’t develop for Vision, his own experiences still so new to be sullied already.

“It’s not foolish Vizh,” she grips his arms and waits until his gaze meets her own, her voice developing a firmness that he won't dare to counter with any of his logic, “at all.” She wants to reassure him more, explain how she can’t make it through the season without at least three breakdowns in the privacy of her room, but the tears are already building in her eyes and she knows she won’t make it through the explanation, especially with the way he is looking at her, head cocked in empathetic concern. Wanda directs the conversation down another avenue. “So what’s that?”

“Oh, right,” they both stare at the box in his hands, “I did not want to renege on my promise.”

Wanda’s eyebrows lift as she grabs the box, inviting him to sit on the bed with her as she pries open the container, the sight of the overly commercialized, slightly tacky decorations he bought the year before shattering the dam of her tears which fall in time with her shallow, disbelieving laughter, “Vizh, you’re ridiculous-”

“I apologize for-”

“No, no no,” she puts the box on the ground and grabs his hands, hoping to convince him she’s not upset, “I mean it in the best way possible.” More laughter comes unbidden from her mouth, her reaction confusing to herself but she imagines it is even more confounding to the man next to her, how she can be crying and laughing all at once. “You flew all the way to Marrakech to give me this at three in the morning.”

Vision’s mouth quirks up into an uneasy smile as his eyes search for more information from her face, “I admit it was not the most well-thought out plan but it felt enormously important to do so.”

“What are you hoping to do with this stuff?”

He contemplates her question, his flimsy plan falling apart at the seams the longer he studies it, and she knows if he could blush that his cheeks would be turning beet red right now. His explanation comes out in a quiet, stuttery mess. “I, um, thought we could possibly, if you are amenable and interested, um, decorate your room.”

“Natasha is going to be here in four hours.”

This seems to confuse him even more, his brow knitting around the Mindstone as if her comment is in a foreign language that he is unable to translate using the internet. “Yes and I have to be back to the compound in the morning for pictures. I do not think it will take more than that.”

One the the main rules of being a fugitive is to travel light and keep only the smallest of personal mementos to reduce the risk of someone inadvertently learning too much about you. It means that Wanda knows she can’t keep the decorations, if they were to be discovered, there’d likely be questions which could lead down a dangerous road. There is no reason to tempt fate and risk losing her contact with Vision. At the same time, however, she’s unexpectedly excited at the prospect of decorating. “I suppose we could put it up and enjoy it for just a little bit.” The smile on his face is mesmerizing, his cerulean irises twisting joyously at her decision. “But you have to take it all back with you, understood?”

“Understood.”

Eagerly Wanda stands from the bed, holding her hand out to help Vision up, knowing full well he doesn’t need the aid, but he obliges, gripping her hand as he stands. “Okay, let’s see what we have.” It’s a small box and it takes them longer to decide where to put the Star of David garland and dreidel lanterns than it does to actually hang them. As Wanda fixes the angle of the lights, Vision places a cardboard cut-out menorah on the coffee table before stepping back to admire their work.

“It is not as much as I remember buying.”

Wanda rolls her eyes at the regret lacing his words, curling her fingers around his wrist and pulling him backwards until he sits with her on the bed. “Good thing this place is so small then.” They’ve grown closer in the months of clandestine contact, but not close enough to still the flutter in her stomach as she lifts his arm so she can snuggle into his side, a rush of victory to her chest when he hugs her to him. “Thank you for this.”

“You are most welcome.”

A snap of her wrist turns the overhead lights off, allowing her to more thoroughly enjoy the soft and pleasant glow emitted from the lanterns and the way it reflects off the vibranium on Vision’s face. “Are you feeling better?”

He nods, “I am, though it is always lonely whenever I leave you.”

An irrefutable statement. “I miss you too.” 

Wanda smiles as he draws her closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, an action that encourages him to lay his cheek on her head. Several minutes pass in companionable silence, only the synchronization of their easy breathing disturbing the quiet. She contemplates staying like this, cozy in his embrace, but she also, given his motivation for breaking protocol, feels a need to probe just a bit more. “Vizh?” His _hmm?_ buzzes happily against her head. “Is anyone going to be around the compound for Christmas?”

“No,” which is what she suspected. “Rhodes has invited me to join him at his sister’s house.”

The way he says it brings to mind a shrug, the intonation of the words dismissing the concept before it is even fully formed. “Why don’t you want to go?” Wanda knows the answer, has turned down multiple offers in her lifetime to join random (or not so random sometimes) families in their celebrations. 

Vision inhales deeply, her own body rising and falling with his steadied breath. “I worry that I would merely be intruding. Given their ages and closeness, I imagine there are numerous deeply ingrained, unspoken traditions and normative expectations." 

”You don’t want to feel like a stranger or risk unintentionally ruining anything.”

”Precisely.”

What social etiquette dictates is she argue against this reasoning, because she knows Rhodes and his sister would likely understand, have already accepted this possibility with the invitation. But Wanda has been that stranger, has seen Vision be that stranger for a large part of his existence. “Then don’t go. Or,” she does have one good memory of crashing someone’s holiday, last year the Bartons invited her out a couple days earlier than the rest of the team. It had the same strangeness, but it faded quickly due to how welcoming and understanding they all were of her situation, “maybe just go for a couple hours and see if you enjoy it?”

Vision’s nod shakes her head, his fingers cinching into the fabric of her sweatshirt as he considers the amended proposition. When he speaks it is quiet, a bit nervous, but filled with a renewed hopefulness. “That is a fair suggestion but I was actually wondering, even though we have a planned excursion in early February, if you might possibly be available to meet before the New Year -," the more flustered he gets the higher her smile climbs, "I, um, given that Rhodes and Tony will be gone from Christmas until the New Years Eve party, no one will notice my absence.”

The plan for Wanda is to travel with Natasha to Belarus where they are being joined by Steve and Sam for a rare week together. Technically it should be deemed too risky to even consider his offer, but technicalities are never her main concern. Wanda wraps her arm around his waist and squeezes him closer, an eager smile gracing her lips, one she isn’t sure he can see in the dim lights. “I’m sure I can sneak away for a day or two.”

“Fantastic.”

Life has taken a lot from Wanda, sometimes through her own decisions, sometimes due to outside forces she can’t control. After Pietro she had accepted that, even surrounded by teammates, she would always feel alone for the holidays. Somehow, however, the thought of spending time with Vision partially fills the hollowness of that fate, and maybe, if they can manage to keep going in this direction for years to come, neither of them will have to be alone again. “It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated.
> 
> I hope everyone finds some peace or joy during the holiday season.


End file.
